Drowning Out the Wind
by memory's marionette
Summary: And just like your friend, the wind, you drown me out: out of the picture, out of your memory, and out of your life.


A/N: Many thanks to both Drew and furryraree who helped beta this. *huggles*

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><p><em><strong>Drowning Out the Wind<strong>_

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><p>A flurry of pretty scenes passes me by as I roll down the window of the Bentley. As I gaze upwards, I see fluffy, white clouds dot the skyline that's made up of amalgamating blue hues, like marshmallows at a campfire. It reminds me a lot of the first (and last) time I took you camping.<p>

\/~\/~\/~\/

"Save the marshmallows!" I half-screamed after you oh-so-expertly opened the packet, very much inducing myself into a state of near hysterics. You just stood there like the hoity-toity person that you were, never willing to get your hands dirty at all.

"I refuse," you retorted adamantly. "They're filthy."

"Yes, well, you leaving them to wallow in the earth isn't exactly making them any cleaner," I huffed crossly. I continued picking the marshmallows up, with as much care as when someone goes digging for small nuggets of gold hidden in the earth.

"Even if we do salvage them, they're not edible anymore. It's a lost cause; leave them be."

Keeping my eyes locked onto the tiny pieces of candy, I grumbled, "But it's not a campfire if there are no marshmallows."

A ripping sound reverberated through the air of our quiet surroundings, making me look up in surprise. "What was th—"

And suddenly, you silenced me by popping one from a fresh pack into my mouth.

\/~\/~\/~\/

As I feel the wind caress my cheek, I can't help but muse on where you hid it: there was absolutely no place to hide it on your person, and I was with you when you packed your bag. I suppose that you could have stashed it inside while I wasn't looking, but such a selfless act is hardly one that I would associate with the likes of you, even if I do love you.

So perchance you got the wind to carry it for you. You do brag about the zephyr being your friend incessantly.

\/~\/~\/~\/

"It's so hot," I murmured, feeling like I was being cooked in an oven.

"Would you like me to call the wind for you? We're good friends, if you can recall," you offered smugly.

"Honestly, Ian, the only force of nature you're on good terms with is hot air," I shot back irritably, for the heat did little to soothe my nerves. "In fact, you two are inseparable."

\/~\/~\/~\/

I shield my eyes as sunlight streams through the window, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my red hair looking as bright as fiery flames of ambition. I dare say that I don't look half bad—pretty, even. Maybe you're right, after all.

\/~\/~\/~\/

"You know, your hair actually looks tolerable today," you remarked, standing in the cool shade and gesturing to my red hair that was gleaming like a neon sign. "The sunlight does wonders for your aesthetics."

With the ruins of Angkor Wat behind me, I stared at you in disbelief, for though we had been an item for quite some time, compliments from you were few and far in between. "Well, thank you," I said, nodding appreciatively.

I examined the rest of the rubble quietly, though my heart was practically playing hopscotch giddily and I had a grin on my face that couldn't be wiped off for ages, even as I toiled with the sun's rays beating on my back akin to a possessed percussionist on the drums and beads of perspiration hung on my temple like stalactites in a grotto. And as made my way next to you a little while after that to seek relief from the scorching heat, I chided you softly, "The next time you think I look pretty, Ian, just say so."

\/~\/~\/~\/

The car screeches to a halt at the front of the majestic-looking church. Wrought iron gates surround the picturesque gardens, and vines creep up every inch of it. I can't help but think that it's the perfect place for a wedding as I'm lost in nature's beautiful bounty.

"Are you getting down here?" the driver asks, snapping me out of my reverie.

I turn to look at him, and my jade-green eyes meet his blue ones. "No," I say quietly, "not here; further up."

He stops near the side entrance, and I hastily get out of the car. My heels make contact with the hard cobblestone road, and similarly, I re-enter the realms of reality.

_Because even if I am in white, I am not the bride, no matter how much I wish to be._

I clutch my black, sequinned purse as I make my way through the crowds of people milling about in the church compound. The place is splendidly decorated: fresh flowers adorn every table in elegant, iridescent vases; streams of silky, luxurious fabric are draped from soaring heights, akin to the tapestries hung in royal palaces of yesteryear; stone arches annunciate the presence of every entrance; and dark mahogany furniture fills up the vast expanse of the venue that is enclosed by towering stone-grey walls.

One step is all that'll it take for me to slip in unnoticed, but someone catches me by my wrist just as I pass by the reception table.

"Excuse me, miss," the lady tells me, "but we need to see your invitation." She smiles gently at me. "Security measures, you see."

I nod understandingly and make a show of rummaging through my things as she watches on, hawk-eyed. I flash her an apologetic grin and manage a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, but I seem to have forgotten it." It takes all that I have to keep myself from stuttering uncontrollably. "I'm . . . an old friend of the groom. Maybe he can come here and vouch for me?" I inquire hopefully, hoping to the high heavens that she doesn't notice the fact that I'm lying through my teeth.

_Because you'll never be just a friend to me._

I straighten my back, as though trying to look as confident and stubborn as possible. (A look, I must say, that you always manage with ease.) She must sense that I'll not budge an inch without getting inside, however, for she scampers off to find you, leaving me to chew my lip off into oblivion due to the jitters. I try to plan what I want to say to you, but when I see you in the flesh before me, my breath hitches in my throat and it all goes flying out of my mind. In fact, I probably don't even have a mind anymore.

_You always have that effect on me, really._

"H-hi, Ian," I manage somehow, waving slightly. It may seem like a normal gesture, but truthfully, I'm moving my hand at an angle, just so that the light that's pouring in through the stunning stained glass murals strikes the ring that you gave me during that wonderful summer we shared. And I know that this sounds completely psychotic, but I'm almost in tears right now, hoping –against all odds—that you're wearing yours too.

"What are you doing here?" You don't seem to have any cruel intentions towards me, but that sentence pierces through my heart like a knife.

_Because once upon a time, that sentence was said with a tone of happy surprise, and now it's tinted with nothing but bitterness._

"I heard . . . that you're getting married," A smile is plastered on my face—much like the makeup I've applied to hide my blotchy, red cheeks and puffy eyes. "I came to join in the celebration."

_Lie after lie._

Your cause célèbre only ever makes me grieve, and I hear nothing from you—never have, ever since we broke up.

I don't know or remember how many times I've reached to you, all but pleading pathetically.

_And just like your friend, the wind, you drown me out: out of the picture, out of your memory, and out of your life._

There's no contact between us, and you've moved on well since then.

_But I am not so lucky._

_Because though the wind can drown me out, drowning out the wind is something that I am not able to do._

I've no idea what you've done to me, but I can't seem to get over you. And now, I'm turning up out of the blue, uninvited; I suppose I couldn't stay away and I couldn't fight it. Somehow, I think that maybe—just maybe—if you see my face, then you'd be reminded, that for me, it isn't over.

It's not over.

_...Is it?_

You rub your temples—a sure sign of distress—and I see something silver glinting on your ring finger. I can't explain how happy I am to see that, to think that you've never forgotten me.

I'm so happy that you've never forgotten us.

_But it's not our ring._

It's not from me; it's from _her_.

And my world comes tumbling down once again, seconds after it has been rebuilt.

It takes a while for me to get my voice back. "Should I leave now?"

You exhale loudly. "No. It's rude to throw out a guest." You beckon over the wedding planner and order her to find me a seat, before you disappear, off to rehearse your vows.

She turns to face me and asks me a question: "Where would you like to be seated?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere's fine," I say finally.

_Yet another lie._

_Because it takes every bit of sanity that I've left to refrain from telling her that I want to take the bride's place._

She leads me to what she says is "the best seat in the house", but I beg to differ; it's the worst place in the church's vicinity. I love to sit in the front row wherever I go for fear of missing the slightest detail, but this is one time that I'd rather be at the back, because this bird's eye view is killing me softly.

You stand at the altar, dashing as ever in your wedding tuxedo.

_And I can't help but wonder how much more handsome you'd be up close._

But as Wagner's Bridal Chorus is played and she walks down the aisle, I know for a fact that I will never find out.

I tune out the vows, watching the joyous occasion with invisible tears in my eyes. You lift her veil, and my sorrow is sealed with a kiss.

* * *

><p>"Congratulations," I choke out, feeling as though my heart is lodged in my windpipe.<p>

I suppose what I have heard through the grapevine really is true, then: your dreams really have come true.

_But I feel like mine have all been burnt into ashes._

"Thank you," you reply, as stoic as you were when we first met—that is, until your wife comes along, because you break out into the biggest smile I've ever seen.

Truly, I've never seen you so ecstatic.

_At least, not with me._

"Hello," she greets, happiness radiating from her very entity. "I don't think we've met before, have we?" she queries.

I manage a small smile that is gone without a trace as quickly as it appears. "No, we haven't."

She holds out a hand. "I'm Amy. It's a pleasure to meet you," she greets warmly.

"Sophie." I don't continue, because I'll be dishonest if I say that I'm taking any pleasure out of this at all. Someone steers you away for a conversation, and suddenly, I'm left alone with her.

"How are you?" Amy asks, albeit awkwardly.

I just smile, because there's no way that I can tell her that I am less than fine, or that I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

"Beautiful weather, isn't it?"

She continuously converses with me with nothing but pleasantries and formalities: perhaps she feels like she has a duty to be nice to me, considering that she didn't invite me and assumes that Ian did, or maybe she's the sort who tries to be so polite that she's unnatural.

"It is," I reply contritely.

_Another lie._

_Because it'll be even more beautiful if I were her._

"So what do you do? Engineering? Medicine?" she asks, trying to keep the conversation going, though the timbre of her voice betrays how futile she thinks it is.

"I'm an archaeologist, actually."

Her eyes light up, as though laser beams of excitement are being shot out, for her valiant efforts are clearly not in vain after all. "Me too!" she exclaims, almost too glad that she has found a common thread linking us together. "We should work together sometime," she suggests. "Do you like to read as well?"

"I'm a born bookworm," I tell her, and smile slightly again. But this time, it's sincere.

And for reasons that I can't pinpoint, I really can't hate her.

_Maybe it's because she's so much like me._

And the truth is that there really isn't much difference between us. Our resemblance is uncanny, right down to the jewel-tone eyes and red hair.

So why her?

_Why her?_

I stare at her, and scanning her from top to bottom, I can't help but wonder where I went wrong. We're so similar, aren't we?

\/~\/~\/~\/

"Hey, I—"

"Not interested," you called out dismissively.

I frowned. "But it's Macchu Picchu! How can you not be interested in Macchu Picchu?" I mused in disbelief. You ignored me, and I offered to change travel destinations instead. "How about Bujang Valley, then? They've got some lovely ruins."

You finally looked up from whatever it was that you were doing. "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

\/~\/~\/~\/

"Hello? Hello?" I said into the telephone receiver. And for the umpteenth time, you neglected to answer.

I didn't know what it was that I had done, but suddenly, you made it seem like my existence in itself was problematic for you.

As I reminisced about our days, that really wasn't too far from the truth, was it?

\/~\/~\/~\/

"You!" I stormed into your office, barging in without so much as an appointment.

"I thought I made it clear that I refused to see you anymore," you said calmly, yet firmly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You'll never see me again, I guarantee you that," I spat out. "But you should know that one day, you'll come to regret this." I retorted forcefully, "You will never find someone like me."

You had witnessed my anger without so much as a blink of an eye. I never understood that, never was able to fathom it.

Maybe it was because you knew you'd find better.

Maybe it was because you knew you'd find her again.

Maybe it was because you had found her already.

And just like the wind, you were gone as suddenly as you came.

\/~\/~\/~\/

And now, it hits me.

We're so similar, and she's so much like me.

But I'm wrong, aren't I?

"It's such a pleasure to find someone else who's a Vernian!" Amy gushes. "How great is it that we're so alike? You're just—"

_Because I'm the one who is so much like her._

"—someone like you," I whisper in realization. "I'm just someone like you," I repeat, and what was once an unanswered question in my mind, is now a definitive statement uttered from my own mouth.

"Exactly," she says, beaming, oblivious to the words' implication to me.

"I have no substitute." is what I told you so long ago.

_But I am the substitute, aren't I?_

I suppose that I've never been more than that to you.

_I never have and never will be Amy. _

And like the marshmallows that wallowed in the dirt a few years back, this, too, is a lost cause.

_They say that the wind never blows by the same place twice, and that if you cannot direct the wind, then you should adjust your sails._

_So maybe it's time for me to go, and for us to part ways. _

Amy looks at me with concern in her eyes, for I've fallen silent for more than just a moment. "Are you okay?"

I'll be lying if I say that I am.

_No more lies._

"No, I'm not," I declare, and Amy looks just about ready to call the paramedics. "But I think—No, I know that I'll be better soon," I assure her.

Regardless, she leads me over to a chair and practically forces me to sit. And honestly, she's so sweet, and I know that being like her is no bad thing at all.

I slip the ring you gave me during our glory days off my finger and place it inside my purse, out of sight. I confess that there are still lingering feelings, but love and heartbreak are never easy, are they? I may be carrying just the smallest matchstick for you yet, but I wish nothing but the best for you both.

And who knows?

_I may not be able to drown out the wind completely, but one day, I will find another breeze that will send me on my rightful course. _

One day, I may even find someone like you.

_And that's the truth._

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><p>AN: This was inspired by numerous listens to Adele's "Someone Like You", which also happened to be the original title of the story, before my bout of indecisiveness kicked in and I changed it.


End file.
